


Gambolpuddy

by justalotoffeelings



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen, Snark, lots of snark, sheogorath likes to meddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:04:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalotoffeelings/pseuds/justalotoffeelings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sheogorath makes a foray into the world of fetch-quests, the Dovahkiin finds herself benefiting from it, and Marcurio is dragged along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which a Madgod Gives a Fetch Quest

**Author's Note:**

> This is an excuse to write snarky dialogue. I make no apologies.

Chapter One: In Which a Madgod Gives a Fetch Quest

They were returning from a hunting trip when they came across the pool. Sigyn was surprised she hadn’t seen it before;  she’d spent so long exploring the area around Whiterun that it felt like she knew every individual rock by name.

It was the familiar glow of a nirnroot that caught her attention. Hefting the brace of animal pelts that she and Lydia had collected, she made her way up and over to the pond. The plant stood with its roots in the shallow water. Sigyn smiled as she bent to harvest it. Ten, _finally_. The gods-cursed fetch quest for Ingun Black-Briar had been sitting on her to-do list for ages.

“Lydia, looks like we’re headed for Rift–” The words died in her throat.

Protruding from the still surface of the water was a bare, skeletal hand, clutched loosely around the hilt of a silver sword.

“Well, isn’t that something,” Sigyn breathed, dusting her hands off and getting to her feet.

Lydia stopped beside her. It took the housecarl a second to notice what she was looking at, but when she did her eyes widened. “I’ve never seen anything quite like _that_ ,” she said.

“What a horrible way to go.” Dropping the pelts on the shore, Sigyn went to step into the pool. Lydia’s hand flashed out and caught her arm.

“What if it’s quicksand?” she hissed.

“Relax, Lydia, there’s no quicksand in these parts.” Sigyn waded out into the water and stopped in front of the sword. Bending down she saw it was a simple Elven blade, like the one she had at home. Worth a little bit if she talked to the right people.

She hesitated only momentarily before reaching for the sword.

She knew as soon as her hand closed around the hilt that it had been a mistake.

Blood roared in her ears as Lydia, the pool and the sky disappeared, and a cold purple fog completely obscured her vision. Her stomach twisted in that way it did when Daedra were nearby. She cursed her bad luck. Why was she physically incapable of _walking down a road_ without something disastrous happening?

When the fog thinned, she saw she was now standing on a mound of earth in the centre of a churning yellow sea. She could see the faint outline of mountains far in the distance, completely encompassing the body of water. As she watched, what looked like a cheese wheel sailed past on a rolling wave. _Oh, no. Please no._

“My word! I thought you’d never arrive! Naughty minion.”

Sigyn turned on her heel, ready to scream in frustration. Sheogorath was seated on a throne supported by what appeared to be four undead scamps. He had one leg thrown over the armrest and an unnerving grin plastered across his face.

“What in Oblivion do _you_ want?”

The Madgod cackled. “Oh, my dear, it’s not what I want in Oblivion that concerns us today, yesterday, whatever day it is in your little world. If it was I wouldn’t be here, or you wouldn’t be there. Either way.”

Sigyn leant on the Elven sword and glared at the god. Sheogorath wasn’t exactly high on her list of favourite people, not after the last time. Plus there was the fact that only a fifth of the sentences that came out of his mouth made sense. Sigyn was all for hiding what you meant behind fancy words (she often made a living from it), but there was a line between profitability and gibberish, and Sheogorath had made it clear which side of the line _he_ was on.

“Just tell me what you want, and I’ll go get it,” she sighed.

Sheogorath raised his eyebrows. “Well, that was easier than I expected. I find you little mortals usually kick up such a fuss when you’re asked to do something. That’s just rude, really, don’t you think? I should teach you all a lesson one day. Something involving intestines.”

“Yes, well, I’ve gotten used to running errands,” Sigyn muttered. She inspected her nails casually. “And there’s usually some kind of reward.”

The Madgod laughed again, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. “My dear, I feel that in this case your life is as suitable a reward as any.”

An involuntary shiver ran up Sigyn’s spine. So, it was going to be one of _those_ quests. That’s the way it tended to be with Daedric Princes. “Fair enough. Alright, what do you need?”

Sheogorath settled deeper into his throne, absently petting one of the scamps. “I seem to have misplaced something of mine. Well, I suppose it could have misplaced itself, in which case it wouldn’t be any of my fault. The point is, it’s no longer with me, and I don’t like that at all.”

“What exactly is it?”

“A hand sheathe.”

Sigyn frowned. “A glove.”

“A magical glove!” the god said indignantly. “It’s got more power in its little finger than you do in your whole body! Literally!”

“ _Where_ exactly is it?”

“Really, you think I’d be here if I knew where it was?” Sheogorath asked contemptuously. When Sigyn scowled at him, he shrugged and grinned. “Alright, you’ve got me there. But I don’t. I know that it’s somewhere in Skyrim–”

“Oh, excellent.”

“ –probably in the mountains–”

“ _Fantastic_.”

“–and I’m almost 100% sure it went South–”

“ _Wonderful_.”

“–but apart from that I’m afraid you’re on your own, my little mortal minion. Oh, don’t look so glum, old chum! Someone’s bound to have found it by now, and it’s hard to keep my artefacts a secret for long. I’m sure _someone_ will let the cat out of the bag soon. If it’s still alive. The cat, that is.”

Sigyn straightened, still glowering. She could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. “Is there anything else?” she inquired tersely.

The god’s face lit up.

Sigyn held up a hand. “Actually, you know what? I’ve already got enough on my plate at the moment.”

“Oh,” Sheogorath said, sounding disappointed. “I guess there’s always next time. You’d like to be on your way now, I suppose?”

He snapped his fingers, and the ground disappeared from under Sigyn’s feet.


	2. In Which Sigyn Is Comfortable With Her Life Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sheogorath makes a foray into the world of fetch-quests, the Dovakhiin finds herself benefiting from it, and Marcurio is dragged along for the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter: Marcurio

Chapter Two: In Which Sigyn is Comfortable With Her Life Choices

Sigyn took her time on the way to Riften. She’d left Lydia at Whiterun, after giving her a vague explanation of what had happened and instructing her to take the Elven sword and put it in the chest beside her bed. Then she’d fetched her horse Aurelius from the stables and set off.

It took her just over a day to reach the Rift, and another two till the walls of Riften came into view. She smiled as she saw the stables through the autumn-coloured trees of the surrounding forests. It was good to be back.

Leaving Aurelius in Shadr’s capable hands, Sigyn made her way to the main gate. The guard frowned as she passed through the archway.

“Wait,” he said hesitantly. “Do I know you?”

“Nope.” Sigyn breezed past him before he could argue and immediately made a beeline for Eligrim’s Elixirs. Springing down the stairs two at a time, she followed the walkway around till the dark wooden door appeared in the shadow of the canal wall, right at the end of the planks. The door opened with a loud creak, admitting her into the gloomy interior of the shop. It smelt like all the other alchemy shops in Skyrim; of beeswax, fresh plant cuttings, and the peculiar tang of unsealed potions. Ingun was sweeping behind the counter as she entered.

Ingun looked up at the sound of the door scraping shut. “Hello again,” she said, propping her broom against a shelf. “You caught me just in time, we’re about to pack up. What can I do for you?”

“I finished collecting those plants you sent me after.” Sigyn untied the pouch at her belt that held the nirnroot, nightshade and deathbell and placed it on the bench. Ingun smiled and eagerly undid the tie, inspecting the topmost of the contents.

“Oh, thank you so much! Now I can finally replace the store.”

Sigyn smiled back at her, waiting expectantly.

“I ought to give you a reward of some kind, right?” Ingun asked, noticing her expression. “Here, this should be a suitable thank you.” She rummaged around under the counter for a moment before procuring a small coin purse and a key on a chain. “Take whatever you need from the chest. You’ll always be welcome here.”

Sigyn thanked her, tucking the key into her pocket and emptying the coins into her own purse. “Before I go, Ingun,” she said, “I was wondering if you’ve heard anything…unusual, recently. Around these parts.”

Ingun tilted her head quizzically. “Unusual?”

“Mm. Anything been found? Say, in the mountains?”

“Not that I know of.” Ingun raised her eyebrows. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

“Oh, no,” Sigyn said with a charming smile. “Just keeping up with the gossip. Thank you again, Ingun.”

Leaving the shop, she glanced across the canal at the entrance to the Ratway. The rotting door stood so far in the gloom it was almost invisible. If anyone in Riften had information on Sheogorath’s glove, it was Brynjolf. Sigyn hesitated. No. She was nothing if not thorough. She’d check the Bee & Barb first, make the trip to the Cistern later. Plus, she had something she wanted to attend to in the pub anyway.

She marched back up the canal stairs and took a left, raising a hand in greeting to Mjoll as she passed by and quickly entering the Bee & Barb before the knight could stop for a chat. The Lioness had a habit of telling the same stories a little too often and for a little too long. As much as Sigyn admired Mjoll’s prowess in battle, she’d found castle-loads of followers who were just as skilled and a lot less loquacious.

One of whom was sitting slumped on a bench across the room.

Sigyn smiled and crossed the tavern, dropping down beside him. Marcurio started, saw her, and groaned. “Gods preserve me.”

“ _Darling_. I see time hasn’t healed your impeccably horrible manners.” She threw an arm around his shoulders and looked down at the book he was reading. _Dwemer Inquiries Vol. III._ “Well,” she said after a minute or so of silence. “That looks unbelievably boring. You up for some adventuring?”

The mage closed the book. “I suppose.” He got to his feet along with her. “My fee, please.”

Sigyn laughed. “Fee? _Excuse me_ , Sir Master of the Arcane Arts, but you’ve still got those Conjuration robes I bought for you last month, not to mention Chillrend. That more than covers your fee, thank you very much.”

Marcurio sighed, sending a long-suffering glance skyward. “You’d pickpocket the money back from me anyway.”

“Oh, darling, you know me too well. Go and get your stuff. I want to ask the barkeep something.”

Marcurio nodded and headed for the stairs. Sigyn watched him, smiling, as he disappeared around the corner. She’d missed him, snarky comments and all. Now that she though about it, that probably wasn’t a very good reflection of her taste in friends. Ah well.

She spotted Keerava behind the bar. The Argonian was cleaning the counter with a dirty cloth and talking quietly with another of the customers. Sigyn sidled up to them and waited for Keerava to notice her. It didn’t take long.

“What are _you_ doing back here?” she asked accusingly.

Sigyn made a face. She still wasn’t over it. “Look, Keerava, I said I was sorry–”

“I don’t want to hear it. Tell me what you want and get out.”

“Fine. Anything odd been found in the mountains around here?”

“No.”

“Great. Bye.”

Sigyn turned to see Marcurio lugging a heavy rucksack down the stairs. She sighed and went over to him, testing the weight of the pack with one hand. “Gods, what do you have in here?”

Marcurio heaved the pack onto his shoulder. “Books. Last time you brought me along on one of your quests you spent an hour looting the place. I get bored very easily, you know.”

“I’ve noticed,” Sigyn said dryly. “You complain fairly often.”

“Ohh, you haven’t seen the half of it, love. I’m holding back.”

They left the tavern and paused for a moment as Sigyn checked the purse she’d filched from Keerava’s customer. A few coins and two sapphires. Worth it.

“So, where are we headed?” Marcurio asked.

“You remember Brynjolf, don’t you?”

The mage looked at her. “He punched me in the face.”

“That’s a yes then?”

“I really don’t like you sometimes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you comment on my fic I will love you forever


	3. In Which Brynjolf Sets the Standard For Men Everywhere

Chapter Three: In Which Brynjolf Sets the Standard For Men Everywhere

-

Sigyn led the way round to the chapel. She rarely ever went through the Ratway anymore, if she could help it, not when the secret entrance took her straight to the Cistern. She tugged on the chain and waited for the tomb to slide away, then held the manhole open for Marcurio as they climbed down the ladder. The mage crinkled his nose as they dropped into the passage.

“Nice to know the smell hasn’t improved,” he remarked.

Sigyn hit him lightly on the shoulder. “Mind your manners. I’ve known these people a lot longer than you, and gods know they’re better company.”

He was about to retort when Brynjolf rounded the corner. The big man was wearing his Nightingale Armour and reading a sheaf of parchment, and didn’t notice Sigyn till he almost walked into her.

Brynjolf blinked in surprise, then grinned broadly. “Lass. Good to see you again. What brings you back to Rif–” He noticed Marcurio suddenly and scowled. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Marcurio stepped back a little, retreating behind Sigyn for protection. “I came under duress,” he said hastily.

“I’m sure,” Brynjolf muttered. He turned from the mage and took Sigyn by the shoulders, smiling once more. “You look well, lass. How’s Skyrim been treating you?”

“As kindly as can be expected.” She glanced around the room as Brynjolf led her to what had once been Mercer Frey’s desk. The Cistern hadn’t changed dramatically, but she could see that the money she’d earned for the Guild in the previous months had made improvements. The beds near the four entryways were less grubby looking. Tapestries had sprung up on the walls, adding a little colour to the slightly gloomy interior of the reservoir. Behind Frey’s desk the shelves were filled with priceless artefacts she and other Guild members had collected. She saw the Left Eye of the Falmer high up on the top shelf; it’s twin was sitting in her house in Solitude, taking pride of place beside her bed.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” Marcurio commented, eyeing with distaste the murky water on both sides of the walkway.

Brynjolf glared at him. “Don’t push your luck.” He gestured for Sigyn to take a seat. She shook her head. It had been almost six months since she’d killed Mercer Frey, but the desk still didn’t feel like hers, and she still didn’t like working at it. If she needed to attend to Guild business she’d do it sitting at a table in the Ragged Flagon, surrounded by the idle chatter of her friends.

“Now, lass, tell me what you need,” said Brynjolf, supporting himself with both hands on the desk.

Sigyn hesitated. “I’m not really sure where to start.”

He smiled. “You forget. Here in the Guild we don’t care much about details. Just tell me what you want and I’ll try my best to help you with it.”

Sigyn turned to Marcurio. “Are you taking notes? Are you seeing how nice he treats me? This is what I expect from you.”

He rolled his eyes and went back to inspecting the Crown of Barenziah.

Sigyn faced Brynjolf again. “What I need is information, rumours about something being found in the mountains down south.”

Brynjolf stood back and scratched his chin. “Down south, you say? Mmn, nothing out of the ordinary, not that I know of. A troll attack on Stendarr’s Beacon, a werewolf sighting.” He looked up. “That wasn’t you, was it?”

“ _Brynjolf_ ,” she said reprovingly. “I’m never sighted in wolf form. I have a reputation to protect. How about out west? Past Angarvunde?”

He thought about that for a moment, his brow creasing. “No…no, we haven’t had any news from out that way for a while.”

Sigyn sighed. “Should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. Well, thanks anyway, Brynjolf, it was worth a shot. Say hello to the others for me.” She’d clasped hands with her friend and was halfway to the exit, Marcurio in tow, when Brynjolf called out for her to stop.

“Lass, wait! I just remembered now. I overheard Delvin saying something about an unusual avalanche that happened up Angarvunde-way.”

She paused, frowning. “Maybe it _is_ this easy. What else did he say?”

“Don’t recall. You should go talk to him.”

“I will. Thank you.”

She made her way towards the Ragged Flagon, stopping briefly to say hello to Etienne and Rune. Apparently Rune has been caught and jailed on his last assignment, and the others were having a wonderful time teasing him about it. Sigyn was still laughing as she entered the tavern.

The Guild’s upgrades were most evident in the Ragged Flagon. Along the left walkway she could see braziers burning, illuminating the shops set up in the various alcoves. If she hadn’t been on a quest she would’ve walked over and had a lovely old haggle with the fences. She spotted Delvin seated at a table by the bar, saying something to Vex that brought a rare smile to her face. They both looked around as Sigyn approached.

“Well, look who's back,” Delvin said cheerfully. “With our favourite little mage, too. Did Brynjolf give you his customary greeting?”

Marcurio glowered at him. “No.”

“Shame,” Vex shrugged. “You here for more work?”

Sigyn shook her head. “I came for gossip, actually. Brynjolf said Delvin had heard about an avalanche up near Angarvunde.”

“I have indeed.” Delvin leant back in his chair. “Funny circumstances, didn’t seem quite right.”

“How so?”

“Pair of hunters saw some kind of meteor fall from the sky and hit the mountains. Lots of rubble, they said, but the avalanche came a couple of minutes later. There was a big bang, and then the whole side of the mountain went down. They said the weather went berserk too, when the meteor landed. Bit of a localised lightning storm, apparently.”

“Sounds about right. Could you mark it on a map for me?”

“Sure, give it here.”

Sigyn procured a map from her pack. The parchment was a little worse for wear; the edges were tattered, and the quadrants under the fold lines were almost indecipherable. Charcoal crosses, circles and ink blotches remained a testament to her many adventures in Skyrim. The left corner of the Sea of Ghosts had been completely torn off, taking with it Northwatch Keep and some other locations she couldn’t remember the names of. Gods forbid she ever needed to quest up there.

Delvin grabbed a stick of charcoal from the bar and inspected the map for a moment, before circling a small area of mountains beside Angarvunde. “Should be thereabouts,” he said, handing the map back to her. “Good luck with whatever it is you’re looking for.”

“Thanks, Delvin.” She said goodbye to him and Vex and made for the exit, pocketing the map as she did so. “You got a cloak in that pack of yours?” she asked Marcurio.

He nodded, already looking unenthused.

“Good, because it’s going to get very cold.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments/critiques are appreciated C:


End file.
